6014 
.L8 


inrt^ttt 


2I^g^nb0 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

SANOItOO 


16088 


Digitized  by  tine,  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/ancientlegendsofOOIumeiala 


Knmnt   lUt^mh^ 


nf 


Mattg  nf  U|pm  frnm  a\h  baoka  twte  nut  nf  inint 
Htzabrtly  iH  Hum 


Neb  IfaiiPtt : 
1902 


COPYRIGHT   1902 

BY 

ELIZABETH   M.   LUM 

All  rights  reserved. 


TO 

flb^  2)ear  Xittle  flbotbec 

THIS   BOOK   IS 
AFFECTIONATELY   DEDICATED 


'  H&nahB  ms  malt?  firimt  hooka  " 

— VOLTAIRE 


Contcnte 

Page 

Sir  Galahad  and  the  Rose  Maiden,        ...  9 

The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal, 11 

St.  Augustine, 16 

The  Wall  Flower  (Scottish  Legend),    .        .        .  17 

The  Dedication  of  the  Cathedral  (Time,  1401),    .  18 

The  Rose-colored  Lotus, 21 

The  Dying  Viking, 22 

The  Making   of  the  Humming-Bird  (an  Indian 

Legend), 25 

How    Lady  Blanche   Arundel   held  Wardour  for 

King  Charles, 26 

The  Moss  Rose 34 

The  Death  of   Winklereid  (Battle   of   Sempach, 

1386), 35 

The  Cormorant,  the  Bat  and  the  Bramble  (from 

the  Persian), 41 

The    Old   Cathedral    Organist    (an   old    English 

Legend), 42 


6 

Page 
The   Nightingale  and  the   Rose   (Eastern  Leg- 
end),           45 

The  Legend  of  the  Lockharts,        ....  46 

The  Lily  of  the  Valley  (from  the  French),   .        .  51 

Guido's  Model, S3 

The  Violet  (from  the  German),     ....  56 
The   Great    West    Window    (an    old    Cathedral 

Legend) 58 

The  Goldenrod  (Bavarian  Lore),  ....  61 

Staufenberg  (a  Legend  of  the  Rhine),           .        .  62 
The  Schoolboy  King.    A  Legend  of  Napoleon  (a 

Scene  at  Brienne) , 73 


Attmnt  IC^g^ttliB 


Sir  (5alaba^  anb  tbe  IRoae  fIDatben 

In  the  days  of  King  Arthur  and  the  Round 
Table  there  lived  in  an  old  German  town  a 
quaint  little  maiden  called  by  her  friends  the 
Rose  Maiden. 

She  loved  the  beautiful  roses  above  all 
flowers  and  her  garden  filled  with  their 
choicest  blooms  was  her  especial  pride.  The 
pure  white  rose,  her  favorite,  she  had  earnestly 
striven  to  procure;  but  alas!  it  grew  among 
the  crags  of  the  steepest  mountains,  and  only 
to  him  of  pure  heart,  of  lofty  mind,  and  of 
strong  purpose,  was  given  the  power  to  find  it. 

As  Sir  Galahad,  bravest  of  knights,  rode 
forth  upon  his  noble  steed,  armed  for  the  quest 
of  the  "Holy  Grail,"  the  little  maid  approached 
and  said,  "Pray,  Sir  Knight,  will  you  not 
bring  to  me  the  white  rose  for  my  garden, 
for  only  he  of  purest  heart  has  the  power  to 
obtain  it?" 

The  knight  replied,  "I  will  first  search  for 
the  rose,  and  if  my  heart  be  pure  enough  to 
find  it,  then  shall  I  know  that  I  may  go  in 
search  of  the  "Holy  Grail,"  and  return  vic- 
torious. 


zo 

The  maid,  with  eager  expectancy,  awaited 
the  knight's  return;  and  when  she  saw  the 
noble  charger,  proud  of  his  knightly  rider, 
approaching  her  garden,  and  when  the  knight 
gave  into  her  hands  the  pure  white  rose,  she 
was  content. 

"What  may  I  do,  Sir  Knight,"  gratefully 
said  the  little  maid,  "that  may  show  my  deep 
thankfulness?" 

"Grant  me,"  replied  Sir  Galahad,  "the  right 
to  wear  upon  my  heart  when  riding  forth  upon 
my  holy  quest  the  first  bloom  from  this  pre- 
cious plant." 

"It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  gladly  assented  the 
little  maid. 

Then  rode  away  with  hopeful  heart  the 
noble  knight.  Since  that  time  the  white  rose 
is  held  to  be  the  most  dearly  loved  of  all 
the  roses,  and  an  emblem  of  purity  of  heart, 
loftiness  of  mind,  and  strength  of  purpose. 
"And  maidens  ever,  with  it  against  their  heart, 
may  dream  of  him  whose  future  life  they'll 
share." 


Z\)c  lDt0ion  of  Sir  Xaunfal 

James  Russell  Lowell. 
(By  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.) 

The  drawbridge  dropped  with  a  surly  clang, 
And  through  the  dark  arch  a  charger  sprang, 
Bearing  Sir  Launfal,  the  maiden  knight. 
In  his  gilded  mail,  that  flamed  so  bright 
It  seemed  the  dark  castle  had  gathered  all 
Those  shafts  the  fierce  sun  had  shot  over  its 

wall 
In  his  siege  of  three  hundred  summers  long, 
And,  binding  them  all  in  one  blazing  sheaf. 
Had  cast  them  forth :  so,  young  and  strong 
And  lightsome  as  a  locust  leaf. 
Sir  Launfal  flashed  forth  in  his  unscarred  mail, 

To  seek  in  all  climes  for  the  Holy  Grail. 

*  *  * 

Sir  Launfal  turned  from  his  own  hard  gate. 

For  another  heir  in  his  earldom  sate; 

An  old,  bent  man,  worn  out  and  frail, 

He  came  back  from  seeking  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Little  he  recked  of  his  earldom's  loss, 

No  more  on  his  surcoat  was  blazoned  the  cross. 

But  deep  in  his  soul  the  sign  he  wore. 

The  badge  of  the  suffering  and  the  poor. 


12 

Sir  Launfal's  raiment  thin  and  spare, 

Was  idle  mail  'gainst  the  barbed  air, 

For  it  was  just  at  the  Christmas  time. 

So  he  mused,  as  he  sat,  of  a  sunnier  clime, 

And  sought  for  a  shelter  from  cold  and  snow 

In  the  light  and  warmth  of  long  ago; 

He  sees  the  snake-like  caravan  crawl 

O'er  the  edge  of  the  desert,  black  and  small. 

Then  nearer  and  nearer,  till,  one  by  one. 

He  can  count  the  camels  in  the  sun, 

As  over  the  red-hot  sands  they  pass 

To  where,  in  its  slender  necklace  of  grass, 

The  little  spring  laughed  and  leapt  in  the  shade. 

And  with  its  own  self,  like  an  infant,  played. 

And  waved  its  signal  of  palms. 

"For  Christ's  sweet  sake  I  beg  an  alms"; — 
The  happy  camels  may  reach  the  spring. 
But  Sir  Launfal  sees  only  the  grewsome  thing, 
The  leper,  lank  as  the  rain-blanched  bone. 
That  cowers  beside  him,  a  thing  as  lone 
And  white  as  the  ice-isles  of  Northern  seas 
In  the  desolate  horror  of  his  disease. 

And  Sir  Launfal  said — "I  behold  in  thee 
An  image  of  Him  who  died  on  the  tree; 
Thou  also  hast  had  thy  crown  of  thorns — 


13 

Thou  also  hast  had  the  worW's  buffets  and 

scorns, — 
And  to  thy  life  were  not  denied 
The  wounds  in  the  hands  and  feet  and  side. 
Will  Mary's  son  acknowledge  me; 
Behold  through  Him  I  give  to  thee!" 

Then  the  soul  of  the  leper  stood  up  in  his  eyes 
And  looked  at  Sir  Launfal,  and  straightway  he 
Remembered  in  what  a  haughtier  guise 
He  had  flung  an  alms  to  leprosie, 
When  he  girt  his  young  life  up  in  gilded  mail 
And  set  forth  in  search  for  the  Holy  Grail. 
The  heart  within  him  was  ashes  and  dust, 
He  parted  in  twain  his  single  crust. 
He  broke  the  ice  on  the  streamlet's  brink. 
And  gave  the  leper  to  eat  and  drink; 
'Twas  a  mouldy  crust  of  coarse  brown  bread, 
'Twas  water  out  of  a  wooden  bowl, — 
Yet  with  fine  wheaten  bread  was  the  leper  fed, 
And  'twas  red  wine  he  drank  with  his  thirsty 
soul. 

As  Sir  Launfal  mused  with  a  downcast  face, 
A  light  shone  round  about  the  place; 
The  leper  no  longer  crouched  at  his  side, 
But  stood  before  him  glorified, 


14 


Shining  and  fair  and  tall  and  straight 
As  the  pillar  that  stood  by  the  Beautiful  gate, — 
Himself  the  Gate  whereby  men  can  enter  the 
temple  of  God  in  Man. 


His  words  were  shed  softer  than  leaves  from 

the  pines, 
And  they  fell  on  Sir  Launfal  as  snows  on  the 

brine 
Which  mingle  their  softness  and  quiet  in  one 
With  the  shaggy  unrest  they  float  down  upon; 
And  the  voice  that  was  calmer  than  silence 

said, 
"Lo  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid! 
In  many  climes  without  avail. 
Thou  hast  spent  thy  life  for  the  Holy  Grail; 
Behold  it  is  here, — this  cup  which  thou 
Didst  fill  at  the  streamlet  for  me  but  now; 
This  crust  is  my  body  broken  for  thee. 
This  water  His  blood  that  died  on  the  tree; 
The  Holy  Supper  is  kept,  indeed. 
In  whatso  we  share  with  another's  need; 
Not  what  we  give,  but  what  we  share, — 
For  the  gift  without  the  giver  is  bare ; 
Who  gives  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three, — 
Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and  me." 


15 

Sir  Launfal  awoke  as  from  a  swound : — 
"The  Grail  in  my  castle  here  is  found ! 
Hang  my  idle  armor  upon  the  wall, 
Let  it  be  the  spider's  banquet-hall; 
He  must  be  fenced  with  stronger  mail 
Who  would  seek  and  find  the  Holy  Grail." 

The  castle  gate  stands  open  now, 
And  the  wanderer  is  welcome  to  the  hall 
As  the  hangbird  is  to  the  elm-tree  bough; 
No  longer  scowl  the  turrets  tall. 
The  summer's  long  siege  at  last  is  o'er. 
When  the  first  poor  outcast  went  in  at  the  door 
She  entered  with  him  in  disguise 
And  mastered  the  fortress  by  surprise. 
There  is  no  spot  she  loves  so  well  on  ground. 
She  lingers  and  smiles  there  the  whole  year 

round ; 
The  meanest  serf  on  Sir  Launfal's  land 
Has  halls  and  bower  at  his  command; 
And  there's  no  poor  man  in  the  North  Countree 
But  is  lord  of  the  earldom  as  much  as  he. 


St  augu6tlne 

As  St.  Augustine  was  one  day  walking  by 
the  sea,  musing  intently  upon  the  mysteries  of 
Heaven  and  earth,  his  eye  rested  upon  a  child, 
diligently  making  a  hole  in  the  sand. 

"Tell  me,  little  one,"  said  the  saint,  "why 
are  you  working  so  earnestly?" 

"I  am  digging  a  hole,"  the  child  replied,  "in 
which  to  pour  the  ocean." 

At  that  instant  a  voice  from  Heaven  was 
heard,  saying,  "Be  not  dismayed,  O  St. 
Augustine,  for  it  is  as  impossible  for  you  to 
understand  infinity,  as  for  the  child  to  pour 
the  great  ocean  into  the  hole  in  the  sand. 
Strive,  therefore,  not  to  understand,  only  to 
have  faith  and  believe." 


^be  TOall  iflower 

(Scottish  Legend.) 

In  bygone  days,  a  castle  stood  near  the  river 
Tweed,  in  which  a  fair  maiden  was  imprisoned, 
having  pHghted  her  troth  and  given  her  affec- 
tion to  the  young  heir  of  a  neighboring  clan. 

Blood  having  been  shed  between  the  chiefs 
on  both  sides,  the  deadly  hatred  thus  engen- 
dered forbade  all  thoughts  of  a  union. 

The  lover  tried  various  stratagems  to  obtain 
the  fair  one,  and  at  last  succeeded  in  gaining 
admission  to  the  castle  in  the  guise  of  a 
wandering  troubadour,  and  arranged  that  she 
should  effect  her  escape,  while  he  waited  with 
an  armed  force  without  the  castle  gates.  But 
alas !   for  this  plan ;   Herrick  says : 

"Up  she  got  upon  a  wall 
Attempted  down  to  slide  withal; 
But  the  silken  twist  untied, 
She  fell,  and  bruised,  she  died, 
And  her  loving,  luckless  speed, 
Twined  her  to  the  plant  we  call 
Now,  the  Tlower  of  the  Wall.' " 


Zl)c  BeMcation  of  tbe  Catbet)ral 

(Temp.  1401.) 

William     of     Wykeham     (moridundus) 
loquitur: 

Slow  from  the  basement,  measured  stone  by 

stone, 
Slow  as  the  rings  of  rind  around  an  oak, 
Has  grown  this  building  dedicate  to  God, 
Until  at  last  the  gilt  star  of  the  vane 
Gleams  in  mid-air,  and  seems  to  crown  the 

whole 
As  with  a  royal  seal.     Father  of  Light, 
Mercy,  and  Love,  accept  this  offering. 
Poor  earthly  tabernacle,  miserable  type 
Of  heavenly  mansions, — opal,  chrysopras. 
Jacinth,  and  emerald, — soon  by  Eden's  gate 
To  meet  my  gaze,  but  in  His  own  good  time. 
Then  let  the  hand  of  marble  effigy 
Hold  on  my  tomb  the  Founder's  carved  shrine, 
To  show  this  long  and  patient  work  of  mine 
That's  now  accomplished.     Thunder,  tamed  to 

breathe 
Forth  angel's  music,  shake  the  vaulted  choir 
Till  the  great  pillars  vibrate;   harmonies 


19 

Soar  to  the  poised  roof — yes,  soar  and  float, 
And  bring  me  foretastes  of  the  heaven  beyond. 

Saints,  keep  me  humble — for  this  human  heart 
Is  a  mere  nest  of  pride,  ambition,  greed — 
Until  the  "Spirit"  come,  the  Shekinah, 
And  dwell  within,  and  claim  it  all  for  God. 
Better  than  trampled  vines  and  shattered  mills 
Won  by  the  red-stained  lance,  to  see  this  house 
Raised    to    God's    glory    and    His    ceaseless 

praise. 
Races  piay  come  and  go,  and  kings  be  born. 
Or  slain  in  battle;   statesmen  shape  the  world 
Unto   fresh  issues;    still  men's  prayers  shall 

rise 
From  this  my  building  night  and  day  for  age. 
See  the  great  windows,  like  the  jewelled  gates 
Of  Paradise,  burning  with  harmless  fire. 
Forests  of  stone,  ye  columns,  spring  in  joy, 
And  bear  your  holy  burden ;  round  ye  twine 
The  wayside  flowers,  types  of  God's  gracious 

love, 
Sent  for  their  beauty  only,  to  cheer  man. 
Grant   me,   ye   saints,   one  prayer — only  one 

prayer — 
That  when  the  cardinals  in  crimson  train. 
The  mitred  bishops,  and  acolytes, 


The  censer-swingers  and  the  pale  meek  monks, 
Enter  the  western  door,  and  welcoming  hymns 
Break  forth  like  birds  in  Spring,  and  every 

face 
Turns  where  the  tapers  and  the  banners  come, 
I  may  repeat  the  song  of  Simeon, 
And  pass  at  once  as  in  a  summer  dream; 
My  God  and  Saviour,  so  I  die  of  joy, 
And  pass  rejoicing  to  my  heavenly  home. 
Soothed  by  the  thought  that  in  a  whirlwind 

age, 
Mid  clash  of  swords  and  flights  of  crossbow 

bolts 
And  darkening  arrows,  I  have  helped  to  bring 
Thoughts  of  a  purer,  nobler  life  to  some, 
And  reared  a  refuge  for  Faith,   Hope,   and 

Love. 


Zbc  IRoee^coloreD  %otm 

The  Emperor  Adrian,  while  on  a  hunting 
trip  one  day,  was  separated  from  his  guard, 
and  while  wandering  through  the  forest  with 
only  one  attendant,  came  upon  an  immense 
lion,  who  was  drinking  from  a  pool.  The 
attention  of  the  beast  was  attracted  by  the 
breaking  of  a  twig,  and  leaping  upon  them,  he 
caught  the  Emperor  beneath  his  paw. 

The  brave  attendant  directed  the  attack 
toward  himself  and  was  slain. 

Where  his  blood  stained  the  bank  of  the 
pool,  a  lotus  blossomed  as  a  remembrance  of 
his  self-sacrifice. 


^be  B^lng  Diking 


Bring  me  my  armour,  Sigurd, 

I'll  die  as  my  fathers  died, 

Not  like  a  wolf  in  a  shepherd's  trap. 

But  in  all  a  warrior's  pride. 

Strike  on  the  brazen  targets. 

And  let  our  clarions  ring; 

I'll  meet  this  Death  they  talk  of. 

As  a  king  should  meet  a  king. 


II. 

Olaf,  take  you  my  vessels 

With  the  dark  and  threatening  sails. 

Go  forth  and  scare  the  Saxon, 

Harry  his  fertile  vales; 

Dye  helm  and  hauberk  crimson. 

Ply  well  the  sword  and  torch; 

Go  brain  the  Mercian  bishops 

In  their  shattered  temple  porch. 


23 

in. 

And  thou,  my  bowman,  Harold, 
Be  thine  to  plunder  France. 
Smite  with  the  axe  and  hammer 
At  the  vine-grower's  lance. 
Sack  churches,  fire  the  homesteads. 
Turn  red  the  muddy  Seine; 
Burn  standing  corn  and  orchard, 
Make  barren  every  plain. 

IV. 

Ye  are  my  raven-feeders. 
Ye  are  my  warrior  brood, 
Be  yours  to  give  the  falcons 
The  cravens  for  their  food. 
But,  Oscar,  thou  my  youngest, 
Thou  hast  thy  mother's  face. 
Be  thine  to  guard  the  peasants. 
And  found  a  peaceful  race. 

V. 

Thou  shalt  bring  home  some  maiden. 
With  eyes  like  violet  flowers 
When  they  spring  up  sweeter,  fresher. 
After  the  sunny  showers. 


24 


You'll  let  the  pine-woods  dwindle 
Around  our  fortress  hill, 
And  corn  in  golden  billows 
Gird  many  a  freeman's  mill. 


VI. 

But  quick, — my  heart  beats  slower, 

Life's  sand  is  running-  fast. 

Out  with  a  thousand  galleys — 

I  hear  the  quickening  blast — 

One  hour,  and  in  Luffoden 

Our  walrus-horns  shall  ring, 

For  I'll  meet  this  Death  they  talk  of. 

As  a  king  should  meet  a  king. 


^be  HDaF^ing  of  tbe  IbummtnGbirb 

An  Indian  Legend. 

(By  permission  of  Miss  Annie  A.  Preston  and  the 
6"/.  Nicholas.) 

A  bird  and  a  bee  in  the  fresh  April  weather, 
Sailed    blithely    to    meet    the    first    Summer 

together 
'Twas  a  very  small  bird,  and  a  very  large  bee, 
And  they  talked  as  they  flew,  and  they  couldn't 

agree 
As  to  which  of  the  two  should  first  greet  the 

sweet  Summer, 
The  bright-plumaged  bird,  or  the  busy  young 

hummer. 
All  at  once  a  black  wind  storm  dropped  down 

from  the  skies. 
And    it    took    this    small    quarreling   pair   by 

surprise. 
It  whirled  them  about,  until  drenched  and  half 

dead 
They  both  tumbled  into  a  violet  bed. 
When  the  sun  shone  again — (this  is  what  I 

have  heard). 
That  bird  was  a  bee,  and  that  bee  was  a  bird; 
And  only  one  creature  went  humming  away, 
Dipping  into  the  flower-cups,  that  fresh  April 

day. 


novo  Xab^  Blancbe  Hrun^el  Mclb 
Mar^our  for  MrxQ  Cbatlee 

The  first  of  May,  the  garland  day,  that  ushers 
in  the  Spring, 

Saw  Wardour  Castle  fair  and  strong  in  arms 
for  Charles  the  king; 

The  elms  were  black  with  noisy  rooks,  the 
meadows  gilt  with  flowers, 

With  rosary  of  blossoms,  Time  counted  the 
dying  hours. 

The  butler  moved  his  casks  about,  the  chap- 
lain was  at  bowls. 

The  grooms  were  hissing  in  the  stalls,  the  boys 
played  with  the  foals; 

The  Lady  Blanche  among  her  maids  was  busy 
as  the  best. 

Unconscious  that  the  carrion-crow  was  hover- 
ing o'er  her  nest. 

All  suddenly  a  group  of  us,  upon  an  outer  wall, 

Was  startled  by  a  warning  shout  from  those 
within  the  hall, 

And  down  the  wind-tossed  avenue,  from  out  a 
storm  of  dust. 

Galloped  a  wounded  serving-man,  whose  hel- 
met was  all  rust. 


27 

One — two — then  three,  poor  frightened  knaves, 

with  faces  gashed  and  torn. 
One    with    a    broken    sword    red-wet,    who 

screamed  upon  a  horn; 
And  then  a  rout  of  flying  men,  groaning  and 

very  white. 
Each  swearing,  as  he  hoped  for  grace,  Crom- 
well would  come  that  night. 
That  night  our  scouts  were  pouring  in,  each 

paler  than  the  last. 
The  shepherds  brought  us  news  of  Strode,  and 

many  a  troop  they'd  passed; 
A  moment  Lady  Blanche  turned  pale,  but  soon 

flashed  angry  red. 
To  think  old  England's  golden  crown  should 

deck  a  hewer's  head. 
All  night  the  melting  lead  was  poured  into 

our  bullet-moulds. 
The  rusty  pikes  were  lifted  down  from  the 

long-  ratchet-holds. 
Great  stones  were  piled  upon  each  ledge,  the 

guns  were  duly  scoured. 
Upon  the  highest  tower  our  flag  of  angry- 
challenge  lowered. 
The  falconets  were  double  charged  in  every 

bartizan. 
Ready  to  shower  the  fiery  lead  on  frowning 

Puritan ;  ^ 


28 


And  every  one  got  out  his  scarf  and  plume  to 

ready  be, — 
For  gallant  face  brave  men  should  wear  when 

danger's  on  the  lee. 
The  chaplain  on  his  cassocked  knees  a  rusty 

breast-plate  scoured; 
The  butler,  in  a  plumed  hat,  above  all  others 

towered ; 
The  very  turnspit  marched  about,  with  gun 

and  partizan. 
As  noisy  with  his  threats  and  oaths  as  any 

serving-man. 


II. 

Oh,  never  daisy  wore  a  frill  more  trim  or  yet 

more  white, 
No  primrose  of  the  early  Spring  was  purer  to 

the  sight; 
The  fleecy  clouds  of  Summer  dawn  more  with 

such  stately  grace, 
Unchanging  morning  sunshine  shone  from  out 

her  pretty  face. 
No  fawn  trips  so,  no  mountain  roe  a  lighter 

footprint  leaves; 
The  violet  loved  to  have  her  tread  upon  its 

purple  leaves; 


29 

Before  her  gentle  presence  birds  ceased  not 

their  carohing; 
She  shed  a  tranquil  joy  on  all,  as  does  the 

early  Spring. 
She  never  chid  her  serving-maids  about  their 

tapestry; 
And  yet,  of  all  that  busy  hive,  she  was  the  fair 

Queen  Bee. 
For  idleness,  or  ribaldry,  or  drunken  revelling 

sport. 
Dared  never  e'er  to  set  a  foot  within  the  inner 

court. 
She  was  as  gentle  as  a  dove  brooding  upon  its 

nest; 
Yet  when  that  evil  news  with  shrieks  came 

sweeping  from  the  west. 
And  pale-faced   fools  were  pouring  in  with 

news  of  deadly  harm, 
She  changed  at  once — a  sudden  storm  broke 

flashing  from  that  calm. 
Her  husband  and  her  lord  had  gone  unto  the 

tented  field. 
To    wring    from    stone-faced    Puritans   what 

Puritans  would  yield; 
She  was   alone  without  a   friend,   yet  never 

thought  of  fear, 
For  gathered  in  her  castle  walls  was  food  for 

seven  year. 


30 


in. 


That  sullen  night,  just  at  the  dusk,  from  out 

those  dark  fir-trees 
A  muffled  drum,  with  mournful  throb,  sounded 

upon  the  breeze; 
And  dark  and  slow  the  Puritans  began  their 

leaguer  then, 
Not  in  the  open  manly  way  of  honest  gentlemen. 
They  burnt  our  stacks,  they  fired  our  barns, 

they  harried  us  all  day; 
At  night  they  poured  the  hot  shot  in  where  we 

stood  firm  at  bay. 
They  scorched  our  walls,  they  blackened  doors, 

they  splintered  roof  and  pane. 
But  to  the  brave  old  trusty  place  no  entrance 

could  they  gain. 
Our  mossy  walls  laughed  out  to  see  that  grim 

and  yellow  host 
Spur  round  and  round  old  Wardour's  towers, 

like  couriers  riding  post. 
Their  pikes  were  thirsting  for  our  blood,  yet 

we  were  snug  and  warm, — 
All  under  Wardour's  battlements  were  safe 

from  every  storm. 
One  day  a  pale-faced  trumpeter  the  rebel  dogs 

sent  in, 


31 

The  gall  and  bile  were  oozing  through  his 

scurvy  sallow  skin; 
He  bade  us  all  surrender  to  this  Cromwell, 

"England's  lord"; 
The  women  were  to  go  in  peace;    the  men 

yield  to  the  sword. 
Then  Lady  Blanche  tore  up  the  roll,  and  trod 

it  under  foot; 
We  drove  the  crop-ear  from  the  gate,  with 

scoffing  laugh  and  hoot ; 
We  crushed  his  trumpet,  snapped  his  staff,  and 

set  the  dogs  at  him: 
Ha!  but  for  Lady  Blanche's  grace  they'd  torn 

him  limb  from  limb. 
Their  swords  smote  blunt  upon  our  steel,  and 

keen  upon  our  buff 
Till  coldest-blooded  man  of  us  had  battering 

enough ; 
'Twas  butt  and  butt,  and  point  and  point,  and 

eager  pike  to  pike, 
'Twas  foin  and  parry,  give  and  take,  as  long 

as  we  could  strike. 
There,  in  the  breach  stood  Lady  Blanche,  a 

banner  in  her  hand. 
Urging  us  on,  with  voice  and  look,  to  scourge 

this  currish  band. 


32 

She  stood  amid  the  fire  and  flame  in  the  red 

gap  of  the  wall, 
An  angel  sent  to  comfort  us — the  bravest  of 

us  all. 
They  thinned  our  ranks,  they  kept  us  there  in 

arms  by  night  and  day. 
Till,  oozing  out  in  drops,  our  strength  began 

to  melt  away. 
We  fell  asleep  while  taking  food,  we  scarce 

had  power  to  load. 
Yet  even  then  our  Lady's  voice  woke  us  as 

with  a  goad. 
The  fire  balls  vexed  us  night  and  day,  their 

mines  shook  down  a  tower; 
At  last,  on  specious  promises  of  mercy  to  us 

all. 
Our  Lady  Blanche  hung  out  a  flag  of  white 

upon  the  wall. 
They  burnt  our  stables,  stole  our  deer,  caught 

all  our  fattest  carp; 
They  felled  the  oaks  in  the  park  with  axes  keen 

and  sharp; 
Unearthed  our  leaden  conduit-pipes,  and  melted 

them  in  bars; 
Tore  our  great  pictures  into  strips,  and  split 

the  floors  in  stars. 


33 

This  was  the  way  the  rebel  dogs  a  sacred  treaty 

kept; 
Yet  God  had  not  forgotten  us,  nor  had  His 

justice  slept; 
For  that  day  week  Newcastle's  *'Lambs"  fell 

on  this  lying  rout 
Shot,  piked,  and  sabred  half  the  troop,  and 

burnt  the  others  out. 


^be  nDo00  1Ro0e 

The  angel  who  guards  the  flowers,  and 
sprinkles  upon  them  the  dews  of  the  still  night, 
slumbered  on  a  Spring  day  in  the  shade  of  a 
rosebush,  and  when  she  awoke  said,  "Most 
beautiful  of  my  children,  I  thank  thee  for  thy 
refreshing  odor,  and  cooling  shade.  Should 
you  now  ask  me  any  favor,  how  willingly 
would  I  grant  it !"  The  blush  on  the  petals  of 
the  sweet  rose  deepened,  and  in  modest  tones 
she  murmured — 

"Gladly  have  I  shielded  thee  from  the  rays 
of  the  morning  sun,  and  have  wafted  o'er  thy 
slumbers  my  choicest  incense;  but  if  I  may 
ask  a  blessing  it  is  that  I  may  be  adorned  with 
a  new  charm,  the  better  to  cheer  the  hearts  of 
the  children  of  men." 

The  angel  then  departing,  dropped  in  bene- 
diction a  mantle  of  delicate  green  on  the  dainty 
blossoms,  and  the  sweet  moss  rose  was  added 
to  nature's  bouquet  of  flowers. 


Z\)c  Deatb  of  Min^?clrei^ 

Battle  of  Sempach,  July  g,  1386. 

In  July,  when  the  bees  swarmed  thick  upon 
the  hnden  tops, 

And  farmers  gazed  with  pride  and  joy  upon 
their  ripening  crops, 

The  watchmen  on  our  tall  church  towers,  look- 
ing t' wards  Willistow, 

Saw  the  stacked  barley  in  a  flame,  and  the 
wheat-fields  in  a  glow. 

For  Archduke  Leopold  had  come  from  Zurich 

by  the  lake, 
With  lance,  and  bow,  and  banner  spread,  a  dire 

revenge  to  take. 
On  Monday  morning,  when  the  dew  lay  bright 

upon  the  corn, 
Each  man  of  Sempach  blew  alarm  upon  his 

mountain  horn. 

The  young  and  old  from  fair  Lucerne  gathered 

to  bar  the  way. 
The  reapers  threw  their  sickles  down,  and  ran 

to  join  the  fray; 


36 

We  knelt  and  prayed  to  Heaven  for  strength, 

crying  to  God  aloud; 
And   lo!   a   rainbow   rising   shone  against  a 

thundercloud. 

Burghers  of  Berne,  the  lads  of  Schweitz,  and 

Unterwalden's  best, 
Warriors  of  Uri,  strong  as  bulls,  were  among 

the  rest; 
The  oldest  of  our  mountain  priests  had  come 

to  fight — not  pray, 
Our  women  only  kept  at  home  upon  that  battle 

day. 

The  shepherds,  sturdy  wrestlers  with  the  grim 

mountain  bear. 
The  chamois  hunters,  lithe  and  swift,  mingle 

together  there; 
Rough  boatmen  from  the  mountain  lakes,  and 

fishermen  by  the  scores; 
The  children  only  had  been  left  to  guard  the 

nets  and  oars. 

The  herdsmen  joined  us  from  their  huts  on'the 

far  mountain-side. 
Where  cow-bells  chimed  among  the  pines,  and 

far  above  in  pride 


37 

The  granite  peaks  rose  soaring  up  in  snowy 

pinnacles, 
Past  glaciers'  ever-gaping  jaws  and  vulture's 

citadels. 

The  citizens  of  Zurich  town  under  their  ban- 
ners stood, 

Their  lusty  lances  bleak  and  bare  as  any  winter 
wood. 

Geneva  sent  her  archers  stout,  and  swordsmen 
not  a  few, 

And  over  the  brave  men  of  Berne  their  great 
town  banner  blew. 

How  fierce  we  ran  with  partisan,  and  axe,  and 

spear,  and  sword. 
With  flail,  and  club,  and  shrieking  horns,  upon 

that  Austrian  horde! 
But  they  stood  silent  in  the  sun,  mocking  the 

Switzer  bear, 
Their  helmets  crested,  beaked,  and  fanged,  like 

the  wild  beasts  they  were. 

Like  miners  dipping  iron  ore  from  some  great 

mountain  heart, 
We  strove  to  hew,  and  rend,  and  cleave  that 

hill  of  steel  apart; 


38 

But  clamped  like  statues  stood  the  knights  in 

their  spiked  phalanx  strong, 
Though  our  Swiss  halberds,  and  our  swords, 

hewed  fiercely  at  the  throng. 

Hot,  sharp,  and  thick  our  arrows  fell  upon 
their  helmet  crests, 

Keen  on  their  visors'  glaring  bars,  and  sharp 
upon  their  breasts; 

Fierce  plied  our  halberds  at  the  spears,  that 
thicker  seemed  to  grow; 

The  more  we  struck,  more  boastfully  the  ban- 
ners seemed  to  blow. 

The  Austrians,  square,  and  close  locked  up, 

stood  firm  with  threatening  spears, 
Only  the  sterner  when  our  bolts  flew  thick 

about  their  ears; 
Our  drifts  of  arrows  blinding  fell,  and  nailed 

the  mail  to  breast. 
But  e'en  the  dead  men  as  they  dropped  were 

ramparts  to  the  re§t. 

With  furnace  heat  the  red  sun  shone  upon  the 

wall  of  steel. 
And  crimsoned  every  Austrian  knight  from 

helmet  unto  heel. 


39 

They  slew  their  horses  where  they  stood,  and 

shortened  all  their  spears, 
Then  back  to  back,   like  boars  at  bay,  they 

mocked  our  angry  cheers. 

Till  Winkelreid  stepped  forth,  and  said,  knit- 
ting his  rugged  brow, 

"Out  on  ye,  men  of  Zurich  town!  Go  back 
and  tend  your  plough; 

Sluggards  of  Berne,  go  hunt  and  fish,  when 
danger  is  not  nigh. 

See  now  how  Unterwalden  taught  her  hardy 
sons  to  die!" 

Then  out  he  rushed  with  head  bent  low;  his 
body,  breast,  and  hands 

Bore  down  a  sheaf  of  spears,  and  made  a  path- 
way for  our  bands. 

Four  lances  splintered  on  his  brow,  six  shivered 
in  his  side. 

But  still  he  struggled  fiercely  on,  and,  shouting 
"Victory!"  died. 

Then  on  that  broken  flying  rout,  we  Swiss, 

rejoicing,  rushed, 
With   sword,    and   mace,   and   partisan,   that 

struck,  and  stabbed,  and  crushed; 


40 

Their  banners  beaten  to  the  earth  and  all  their 

best  men  slain, 
The  Austrians  threw  away  their  shields  and 

fled  across  the  plain. 

And  thus  our  Switzerland  was  saved,  upon 
that  Summer's  day. 

And  Sempach  saw  rejoicing  men  returning 
from  the  fray. 

As  we  bore  home  brave  Winkelreid  a  rainbow 
spanned  our  track, 

But  where  the  Austrian  rabble  fled  a  thunder- 
storm rolled  black. 


^be  Cormorant,  tbe  Bat,  ant)  tbe 
Bramble 

From  the  Persian. 

The  cormorant  was  once  a  wool  merchant. 
He  took  into  partnership,  the  bramble  and  the 
bat,  and  they  freighted  a  large  ship  with  wool. 
She  was  wrecked,  and  the  firm  was  also 
wrecked. 

Since  the  disaster,  it  is  said,  the  bat  hides 
away  during  the  daytime  to  avoid  his  credi- 
tors, the  cormorant  is  forever  diving  into  the 
deep  to  discover  his  sunken  cargo,  while  the 
bramble  tries  to  lure  into  his  thorny  grasp  every 
unfortunate  sheep  that  chances  to  pass  his  way, 
in  order  to  recover  by  stealing  what  he  lost  by 
water. 


^be  Qlb  Catbebral  ©raaniet 

An  Old  English  Legend. 

'Tis  forty  years  ago  since  first 
I  climbed  these  dusty  winding  stairs 
To  play  the  Dean  in:   how  I  spurned 
Beneath  my  feet  all  meaner  cares, 
When  first  I  leant,  my  cheek  on  fire, 
And  looked  down  blushing  at  the  choir! 

Handel,  Haydn,  and  Mozart — 
I  thought  they  watched  me  as  I  played; 
While  Palestrina's  stern,  sad  face 
Seemed  in  the  twilight  to  upbraid; 
Pale  fingers  moved  upon  the  keys — 
The  ghost-hands  of  past  centuries. 

Behind  my  oaken  battlement 
Above  the  door  I  used  to  lean. 
And  watched  the  puffing  crimson  hood, 
As  floated  in,  full  sail,  the  Dean; 
And  then  the  organ  breathing  low. 
Began  to  murmur  soft  and  slow. 


43 

I  used  to  shut  my  eyes,  and  hear 

The  solemn  prophecy  and  psalm 

Rise  up  like  incense;    and  I  loved 

Before  the  prayer  the  lull  and  calm, 

Till,  like  a  stream  that  bursts  its  banks. 

Broke  forth  brave  Purcell's  "O  give  thanks." 

I  knew  those  thirteen  hundred  pipes 
And  thirty  stops,  as  blind  men  do 
The  voices  of  the  friends  they  love. 
The  bird's  song  and  the  thunder  too; 
And  the  fierce  diapason's  roar, 
Like  storms  upon  a  rocky  shore. 

And  now  to-day  I  yield  me  up 

The  dusty  seat,  my  old  loved  throne, 

Unto  another;  and  no  more 

Shall  come  here  in  the  dusk  alone, 

Or  in  the  early  matin  hour. 

To  hear  my  old  friend's  voice  of  power. 

And  yet  methinks  that,  centuries  hence, 
Lying  beneath  the  chancel  floor. 
In  that  dark  nook  I  shall  delight 
To  hear  the  anthem's  swell  once  more, 
And  to  myself  shall  calmly  smile 
When  music  floats  the  vaulted  aisles. 


44 

Or,  mocking  gravely  at  some  hand 
Less  skillful  than  my  own  was  once, 
In  my  snug  nest  I'll  lie,  and  mark 
The  blunders  of  the  foolish  dunce; 
But  to  myself  the  secret  keep. 
And  turn  me  round  again  to  sleep. 


ZTbe  fltGbttngale  an^  tbe  IRose 

Eastern  Legend. 

The  Nightingale  loved  the  rose,  and  when- 
ever a  blossom  was  plucked  from  her  stem, 
he,  knowing  that  his  lady  love  was  suffering, 
is  said  to  have  given  forth  a  plaintive  cry. 

One  day  all  the  birds  appeared  before  King 
Solomon,  and  complained  of  the  wailing  of  the 
Nightingale — that  it  drove  away  all  sleep  from 
their  eyelids. 

When  questioned  by  King  Solomon,  the 
Nightingale  said  that  his  love  for  the  rose  was 
so  great  his  heart  cried  out  in  agony  whenever 
he  knew  she  was  suffering. 

Then  said  King  Solomon,  "Never  more  shall 
the  rose  suffer  when  her  blossoms  are  plucked — 
therefore  cease  thy  complaint." 

From  that  hour,  the  blossoms  can  be  picked 
without  causing  suffering  to  the  flower,  and 
the  slumber  of  all  the  birds  is  unbroken  by  the 
wailing  of  the  Nightingale. 


^be  Xegenb  of  tbe  XocF^barte 


King  Robert  on  his  death  bed  lay,  wasted  in 

every  limb, 
The  priests  had  left.  Black  Douglas  now  alone 

was  watching  him; 
The  earl  had  wept  to  hear  those  words,  "When 

I  am  gone  to  doom 
Take  thou  my  heart  and  bear  it  straight  unto 

the  Holy  Tomb." 

n. 

Douglas  shed  bitter  tears  of  grief — he  loved 
the  buried  man, 

So  bade  farewell  to  home  and  wife,  to  brother 
and  to  clan; 

And  soon  the  Bruce's  heart,  embalmed,  in  sil- 
ver casket  locked 

Within  a  galley  white  with  sails,  upon  the 
blue  waves  rocked. 

III. 

In  Spain  they  rested;  there  the  king  besought 
the  Scottish  earl, 


47 

To  drive  the  Saracens  from  Spain,  his  galley 

sails  to  furl: 
It  was  the  brave  knight's  eagerness  to  quell  the 

Paynim  brood 
That  made  him  then  forget  the  oath  he'd  sworn 

upon  the  Rood. 

IV. 

That  was  his  sin :  good  angels  frowned  upon 

him  as  he  went 
With  vizor  down  and  spear  in  rest,  lips  closed, 

and  black  brow  bent; 
Upon  the  turbans  fierce  he  spurred,  the  charger 

he  bestrode 
Was  splashed  with  blood,  their  robes  and  flags 

he  trampled  on  the  road. 

V. 

The  Moors  came  fast  with  cymbal-clash  and 

tossing  javelin, 
Ten  thousand  horsemen,  at  the  least,  round 

Castile  closing  in; 
Quick  as  a  deer's  foot  snaps  the  ice  Black 

Douglas  thundered  through, 
And  struck  with  sword  and  smote  with  axe 

among  the  heathen  crew. 


48 


VI. 


The  horse-tail  banners  beaten  down,  the 
mounted  archers  fled. 

There  came  full  many  an  Arab  curse  from  faces 
smeared  with  red : 

The  vizor  fell,  a  Scottish  shaft  had  struck  him 
on  the  breast; 

Many  a  Moslem's  frightened  horse  was  bleed- 
ing head  and  chest. 

VII. 

But  suddenly  the  caitiffs  turned  and  gathered 

like  a  net, 
In  closed  the  tossing  sabres  fast,  and  soon  were 

crimson  wet; 
Steel  jarred  on  steel — war  hammers  smote  on 

helmet  and  on  sword; 
Yet  Douglas  never  ceased  to  charge  upon  that 

heathen  horde. 


VIII. 

Till  all  at  once  his  eager  eye  discerned  amid 

the  fight 
St.  Clair  of  Roslyn,  Bruce's  friend,  a  brave 

and  trusty  knight. 


49 

Beset  with  Moors  who  hewed  at  him  with 

sabres  dripping  blood — 
'Twas  in  a  rice  field  where  he  stood,  close  to 

an  orange  wood. 

IX. 

Then  to  the  rescue  of  St.  Clair,  Black  Douglas 

spurred  amain: 
The  Moslems  circled  him  around,  and  shouting 

charged  again; 
Then  took  he  from  his  neck  the  heart,  and 

as  the  case  he  threw, 
"Pass  first  in  fight,"  he  cried  aloud,  "as  thou 

wert  wont  to  do!" 


They  found  him  ere  the  sun  had  set  upon  that 

fatal  day; 
His   body   was   above  the   case,   that   closely 

guarded  lay, 
His  swarthy  face  was  grim  in  death,  his  sable 

hair  was  stained 
With  the  life-blood  of  the  felon  Moors,  whom 

he  had  struck  and  brained. 


so 


XI. 


Sir  Simon  Lockhart,  knight  of  Lee,  bore  home 

the  silver  case, 
To  shrine  it  in  a  stately  grave  and  in  a  holy 

place. 
The  Douglas  deep  in  Spanish  grounds  they  left 

in  royal  tomb, 
To  wait  in  hope  and  patient  trust  the  trumpet 

of  the  Doom. 


Z\)c  X(l^  of  tbe  H^alle^ 

From  the  French. 

The  "Valley  Lily,"  that  early  notifier  of 
Spring's  advent,  has  a  touch  of  romance  in  its 
history,  wherein  fairies  play  a  part. 

.It  is  stated  that  on  one  occasion  these  sprites 
of  the  forest  and  stream  gave  a  dance  upon  the 
greensward.  Each  took  with  her  a  tiny  cup 
in  which  to  gather  dew  for  the  fairy  queen's 
breakfast.  Now,  one  of  the  inexorable  laws 
of  the  fairies  is  that  the  sun  must  never  find 
them  abroad. 

On  this  occasion  their  revelry  ran  so  high 
that  the  sun  sparkled  upon  the  dew-drops  and 
dried  them  up  before  ever  their  dancing  ceased. 

Then  each  fairy  ran  in  dismay  to  the  blade 
of  grass  on  which  she  had  hung  her  tiny  white 
cup — but  lo !  they  were  hard  and  fast  to  the 
green  stalks,  and  could  not  be  removed. 

The  little  fairies  fell  to  crying,  for  each 
feared  the  anger  of  the  queen,  who  would  have 
to  go  without  her  breakfast. 

Soon  the  fairy  godmother  came  upon  the 
scene,   and,   seeing  the  distress  of  her  god- 


52 

children,  she  touched  the  blades  of  grass,  which 
changed  into  broad  green  leaves,  thus  conceal- 
ing the  cups  from  the  queen's  vision,  and  sav- 
ing her  tiny  subjects  from  the  queenly  ire. 
Hence  we  have  "Lilies  of  the  Valley." 


(Suite's  nDo^cl 


Guido  Reni  in  a  Roman  Palace  chamber 
Sat  one  pleasant  Summer  afternoon 
('Twas  the  old  Farnese's  sumptuous  palace). 
The  walls  were  blazoned  with  the  gilded  moon 
In  crescent,  and  sweet  tangles  of  those  flowers 
That  blossom  into  faces,  while  birds  play. 
Fluttering  from  twig  to  twig,  and  lizard's  run 
Below,  and  jewelled  beetles  crawl  from  spray 
to  spray. 

II. 

The  great  hall  window,  reaching  to  the  floor, 
Stood  open  for  the  vine  to  ramble  in; 
The  birds  were  in  the  garden  down  below; 
The  silver  columned  fountain,  tall  and  thin 
As  a  magician's  wand,  rose  in  the  air; 
Great    yellow    clouds,    laden    with    sunshine 

passed; 
The  sky,  one  flawless  sapphire,  floated  there. 

III. 

Guido  was  painting,  half  entranced  in  thought; 
Quietly  painting  that  pure,  gentle  face 


54 

You've  seen  in  lonely  chapels  oft  and  oft; 
Calm,  sweet,  and  radiant,  with  a  saintly  grace; 
Chaste  as  a  virgin  martyr  glorified; 
Without  one  thought  of  earth,  pure  as  the  snow 
Upon  the  Alp-peak,  with  no  stain  of  sin 
Sullying  her  form,  save  where  one  raptured 
glow 

IV. 

Of  coldest  sunshine  lit  her  marbly  breast; 
The  dove-like  eyes  were  all  intent  on  heaven. 
A  Sabbath  sanctity  was  in  the  air. 
And  not  one  glare  of  Passion's  burning  leven. 
Where  was  the  proud  and  dark-eyed  beauty 

then. 
The  painter's  model  ?     Where  the  peasant  girl 
All  love  and  happiness  ?     Where,  then,  was  she 
With  throbbing  bosom  and  with  lavish  curl  ? 

V. 

Only  a  blear-eyed  crone  in  a  low  chair, 
Facing  the  central  window,  dozed  or  prayed. 
Her  cheeks  were  wrinkled  leather,  and  her  hair, 
In  one  gray  half-starved  knot  of  grizzled  braid, 
Crowned  her  old,  nodding,  semi-palsied  head. 
Her  breviary  was  resting  on  her  knees. 
Nor  recked  she  what  the  chiding  painter  said. 


55 


VI. 


In  came  the  cardinal,  grave  and  coldly  wise. 
His  scarlet  gown  and  robes  of  cobweb  lace 
Trailed  on  the  marble  floor;  with  convex  glass 
He  bent  o'er  Guido's  shoulder;    soon  his  face 
Grew  wistful,  and  then  curled  to  a  smile, 
As  he  beheld  the  crone  and  looked  again. 
Where  is  thy  model,  Guido?     Guido  said, 
I  keep  her,  cardinal,  locked  up  in  my  brain. 


ZDc  IDiolet 

From  the  German. 

In  the  old  German  town  of  Nuremberg  there 
lived  three  sisters.  Two  were  vain,  frivolous, 
and  cruel;  the  third,  a  gentle  child,  unselfish 
and  loved  by  all  who  knew  her. 

As  she  was  one  day  walking  in  the  forest, 
she  heard  a  plaintive  cry,  and  ever  ready  to 
assist  those  in  trouble,  immediately  hastened 
in  the  direction  of  the  sound. 

A  wood  pigeon  had  become  entangled  in  a 
bush  and  was  vainly  endeavoring  to  extri- 
cate her  wings.  The  kind-hearted  little  maid 
released  the  poor  bird  and  the  pigeon  at  once 
became  a  beautiful  fairy.  She  explained  that 
being  pursued  by  a  wicked  elf,  she  had  taken 
the  form  of  a  pigeon  the  better  to  escape  her 
enemy. 

"Now,"  said  the  fairy,  "ask  me  whatever 
you  will,  and  it  shall  be  granted." 

"Give  me,  then,"  said  the  poor  little  maid, 
"who  had  suffered  much  from  the  cruelty  of 
her  sisters, — give  me  the  peace  and  happiness 
which  my  heart  has  long  desired  and  sought 
for  in  vain." 


57 

"Go  to  the  rainbow,"  directed  the  fairy, 
"and  where  the  violet  color  touches  the  earth, 
there  shall  you  find  a  plant  which  will  bring 
to  you  the  desired  gifts." 

Then  ran  eagerly  the  little  girl  and  did  as 
she  was  told,  and  there,  at  the  end  of  the 
rainbow,  where  the  violet  color  touches  the 
earth,  grew  a  cluster  of  modest  wood  violets. 
She  placed  them  over  her  heart, — peace  and 
happiness  forever  after  attended  her  footsteps, 
and  violets  have  since  that  time  possessed  the 
power  of  bringing  these  priceless  gifts  to  any 
maiden  who  will  wear  them  over  her  heart. 


^be  Oreat  meet  rainbow 

An  Old  Cathedral  Legend. 

I. 

The  great  west  window  was  framed  and  done; 
How  proud  was  its  painter,  Father  John ! 
The  watchings  by  night  at  the  furnace  door, 
The  long  day's  ponderings,  all  were  o'er; 
The  fires  were  quenched,  and  the  fluxes  and 

paints. 
The  tracings  of  monarch,  and  prophets,  and 

saints 
Were  rolled  and  labeled,  and  hidden  away, 
And  life  for  Friar  John  was  all  holiday; 
His  brushes  were  thrown  in  the  nettly  croft. 
And  so  was  the  palette  he'd  used  so  oft. 
But  when  he  saw  that  shining  rood 
Glow  like  sunset  seen  through  a  wood, 
There  rose  in  his  soul  a  wicked  pride, 
And  his  heart  beat  quick  with  a  fuller  tide. 
Nor  thought  Friar  John,  as  his  work  he  eyed, 
If  God  in  that  work  was  glorified. 


59 
II. 

The  window  was  a  wondrous  thing 
Blooming  with  an  eternal  spring 
Of  jewel  colours  and  precious  dyes, 
Deep  and  rich  as  the  western  skies 
Such  as  the  depths  of  the  forest  hide; 
Lapis-sapphire   for   martyr's   robe; 
Scarlet  for  Herod's  fiery  pride; 
Ruby  for  Michael's  flaming  sword; 
Golden  splendour  for  crown  and  globe 
Of  David,  the  chosen  of  the  Lord; 
Amethyst,  emerald,  peacock's  dyes. 
At  summer  sunsets,  and  hues  of  flowers 
That  start  up  purple  after  the  showers — 
The  roses's  crimson  and  iris  bloom; 
Sunny  lustres,  and  topaz  gloom, 
Encircling  a  pale,  sad  face; 
A  glory  lighting  it  shed  from  skies 
That  shone  like  God's  own  dwelling  place ; 
And  all  these  burned  and  melted  so, 
That  there  was  within  a  kingly  glow, 
A  pulse  of  light,  a  life-blood  flowing 
Its  varied  colours  ever  showing. 


6o 


III. 


What  wonder,  then,  that  as  John  gazed, 

As  in  a  mirror,  he  saw  upraised 

The  veil  that  hides  the  spirit  world, 

And  the  dim  curtain  slowly  furled, 

Showing  behind  that  crystal  wall. 

Fiends  that  danced  and  mocked  at  his  fall; 

Wild  monsters  beaked,  and  f  anged,  and  horned, 

Goblins  that  him  and  his  glass  saints  scorned; 

And  sneering  Satan  above  them  all. 

But  Friar  John  prayed  full  loud  and  long. 

And  chanted  many  a  holy  song. 

And  read  his  vesper  service  through, 

Ave  and  Pater  not  a  few, 

Till  heaven  opened,  and  angel  and  saint 

Came  to  comfort  that  sinner  faint. 

With  prayer  and  promise;   and  now  again, 

With  purer  eye  and  calmer  brain. 

He  looked,  and  through  the  coloured  screen 

That  parted  earth  from  heaven's  serene. 

He  saw,  through  flushes  of  rainbow  dyes, 

The  opening  gates  of  Paradise. 


Bavarian  Lore. 

The  goldenrod  has  a  romance  connected 
with  its  early  being.  A  beautiful  young  girl 
living  in  the  Bavarian  Tyrol  was  once  wander- 
ing over  the  highlands  in  search  of  her  lost 
lover. 

All  the  day  and  all  the  night  she  cried  for 
her  dear  ones,  who  were  far  away. 

Finally  becoming  exhausted,  she%fell  upon 
the  ground,  and  was  at  once  wrapped  in  slum- 
ber. She  slept  on  and  on,  the  leaves  blown 
by  the  autumn  wind  covered  her  with  a  soft 
mantle  of  brown;  while  the  snow  falling  from 
the  blue  sky  buried  her  out  of  sight.  One 
tress,  however,  of  golden  hair  escaping,  lay 
upon  the  ground. 

As  a  fairy  was  one  day  passing  by,  she  saw 
the  lock  of  shining  hair,  and  winding  it  around 
her  wand,  said  as  she  placed  it  in  the  ground 
and  breathed  upon  it  a  fairy  benediction,  "I 
name  thee  Golden  Rod." 


Staufenberg 

(A  Legend  of  the  Rhine.) 

In  feudal  days  there  lived  in  the  renowned 
castle  of  Staufenberg  a  knight  famed  for  his 
strength  and  bravery. 

While  hunting  one  day  in  the  forest,  he  lost 
his  way,  and  arrived  tired  and  nearly  fainting 
at  a  spring  situated  in  the  heart  of  the  woods. 

The  water  flowed  beneath  the  rich  foliage  of 
luxurious  herbs,  while  a  soft,  fragrant  moss 
covered  the  ground  around.  Rejoiced  at  find- 
ing so  charming  and  shadowy  a  haunt  quite 
appropriate  for  the  flight  of  his  imagination, 
the  knight  approached  the  spring,  and  moist- 
ened his  lips  with  its  crystal  fluid;  he  then 
walked  along  the  brook,  to  seek  its  source. 

Suddenly  he  discovered  a  lovely  young  girl 
sitting  under  a  stately  oak,  wringing  out  her 
wet  hair  and  braiding  it. 

The  youth,  almost  dazzled  by  the  beautiful 
vision,  stopped,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe. 
His  heart  beat  audibly,  and  his  looks  were 
intently  riveted  upon  the  forest-child,  who  was 
as  yet  unconscious  of  his  presence. 


63 

At  last  recovering  his  presence  of  mind,  he 
stepped  softly  forward,  eager  to  know  who 
she  was,  and  why  she  thus  lived  in  the  solitude 
of  the  woods.  She  looked  up  and  with  a 
charming  blush  prepared  to  move  quickly  away. 

With  stammering  voice,  he  asked  if  she 
would  permit  him  to  rest  for  a  few  moments 
near  her  at  the  spring,  as  he  was  weary  from 
his  long  ride  through  the  forest.  "Noble  sir," 
said  the  girl  kindly,  "you  are  the  lord  of  this 
ground,  and  I  must  thank  you  for  having 
allowed  me  to  remain  here.' 

"Oh,  that  I  could  render  this  place  a  para- 
dise, that  you  might  never  wish  to  leave  it," 
responded  the  knight.  "Since  I  saw  you,  it 
has  indeed  become  a  paradise  for  me,"  added 
he  tenderly.  "Do  not  turn  away,  sweet  maid; 
and  forgive  me  if  I  have  admired  your  lovely 
face  too  long.  A  strange  and  charming  dream 
filled  my  heart;  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I 
were  the  only  happy  being  permitted  to  view 
your  lovely  face.  I  ask  your  pardon  that  I 
can  no  longer  conceal  my  thoughts.  I  love 
you  deeply  and  dearly,  and  would  be  the  hap- 
piest of  men,  if  you  would  accept  me  as  your 
husband,  and  become  the  lady  of  my  castle." 


64 

The  youth,  after  having  confessed  his  love, 
took  the  hand  of  the  maiden,  raised  it  rever- 
ently to  his  lips,  and  with  eager  entreaties  and 
kind  words,  begged  her  to  consent  to  his  pro- 
posal. "Oh,  speak!"  exclaimed  he.  "Dare  I 
hope,  or  must  I  fear?  Can  you  not  love  me? 
Disperse  the  doubts  which  render  me  unhappy." 

"I  love  you,"  whispered  she,  tenderly,  turn- 
ing her  face  towards  him,  and  resting  her  eyes 
upon  the  happy  youth.  "I  have  loved  you 
longer  than  you  imagine!" 

"Then  you  will  consent  to  be  my  wife?" 

"I  dare  not  tell  you  to-day;  come  to-morrow 
at  the  same  hour,  and  you  shall  have  my 
answer. 

He  quickly  arose,  kissed  her  gently,  and 
hastened  away,  for  he  feared  to  disobey  her. 

On  the  next  day,  at  the  same  hour,  he 
returned  to  the  spring,  where  he  found  his 
beloved, — her  lovely  hair  adorned  with  a 
wreath  of  wild  flowers, — awaiting  his  coming. 

With  sweet  smiles  she  offered  him  her  pretty 
hand,  and  invited  him  to  sit  by  her  side.  She 
then  informed  him  that  she  was  a  water-nymph, 
and  goddess  of  that  spring,  that  she  had  long 
loved  him,  and  would  esteem  it  the  highest 
happiness    to    reign   over   his    heart    forever. 


65 

"And  if,  noble  sir,  you  still  wish  to  make 
me  your  wife,  I  will  follow  you  everywhere, 
only" — and  when  she  said  this,  a  melancholy 
expression  covered  her  face — "only  you  must 
love  me  faithfully,  for  if  not,  it  will  mean 
death  to  you,  and  eternal  woe  to  me." 

"Faithful  unto  death!"  cried  the  youth, 
drawing  her  tenderly  to  his  heart,  and  cover- 
ing her  sweet  face  with  kisses.  "Never  shall 
another  conquer  this  heart  which  is  thine 
forever." 

The  marriage  ceremony  was  celebrated 
silently  and  without  pomp  or  splendour.  True 
happiness  requires  no  outward  show,  which  is 
often  used  to  conceal  the  woe  of  the  heart. 
The  young  pair  were  happy  in  each  other's 
love;  the  world  had  no  cares  for  them,  and 
their  life  was  a  heaven.  They  seemed  to  gain 
in  youth,  and  their  love  for  each  other  to 
increase  day  by  day.  Alas!  oftentimes  the 
higher  the  happiness,  the  nearer  the  woe ! 

War  broke  out  about  this  time  in  France, 
and  many  knights  and  nobles  of  Germany, 
allured  by  gain  and  glory,  were  prompted  to 
leave  their  homes,  and  take  arms  for  the 
defense  of  their  country. 


66 


The  Knight  of  Staufenberg  also  heard  the 
news,  and  ambition,  like  a  sad  summoner, 
stirred  his  soul,  and  seemed  to  reproach  him 
for  allowing  the  sword  of  his  ancestors  to 
rust  in  its  scabbard,  while  other  knights  gained 
glory  by  their  valiant  deeds. 

He  became  restless,  and  his  mind  tormented 
and  distracted;  even  the  smiles  of  his  young 
wife  had  not  the  same  charm  for  him  as 
formerly. 

With  silent  grief  she  perceived  that  the  mind 
of  her  young  husband  was  not  content  with 
domestic  happiness,  and  that  his  thoughts  were 
centered  in  the  seat  of  war. 

The  knight  did  his  utmost  to  conceal  his 
longing,  but  could  not  help  betraying  himself 
in  unguarded  moments,  which  encouraged  his 
wife  to  carry  out  the  plan  she  had  formed. 

She  presented  him  one  day  with  a  splendid 
belt,  which  she  had  worked,  and  begged  him 
to  wear  it  in  battle  as  a  token  of  her  love. 

"I  know,"  said  she,  "you  long  to  depart  for 
France,  to  wield  the  sword  of  your  ancestors  in 
battle.  Although  it  grieves  me  to  part  from 
you,  I  agree,  nevertheless,  that  you  shall  satisfy 
your  ambition,  which  I  fear  will  destroy  our 
happiness.      Go,   dear  husband;    gain  laurels 


67 

and  glory  by  valiant  deeds,  but  return,  and 
then  learn  that  the  happiness  which  you  enjoy 
at  my  side  is  far  better  than  that  to  be  found 
amongst  strangers." 

The  knight,  touched  by  her  generosity  and 
devotion,  drew  her  to  his  heart  and  kissed  the 
tears  from  her  cheeks.  "Thank  you,  my  love," 
exclaimed  he.  "You  read  my  soul,  and  seem 
to  know  how  the  desire  to  do  honor  to  the 
name  of  my  ancestors  and  our  rank  thrills 
my  soul.  It  calls  me  to  battle,  and  my  sword 
reproaches  me  for  lingering.  I  therefore 
accept  your  belt  as  a  sign  of  good  fortune. 
My  beloved  gave  it,  and  it  will  guide  me  back 
to  her." 

"Now  go,"  said  the  wife;  "think  often  of 
me,  of  our  happy  life  together,  and  remember 
my  warning  before  I  became  your  wife." 

"Always!"  swore  the  knight,  whose  eyes 
were  bathed  in  tears.  "Never  shall  I  forget 
thee  and  I  will  love  you  faithfully." 

With  tender  kisses,  the  knight  sealed  his 
vows  of  fidelity  and  commenced  to  prepare 
for  his  departure. 

It  was  only  when  time  for  the  final  parting 
came,  that  the  priceless  value  of  a  fond  and 


68 


loving  wife  was  borne  in  upon  the  heart  of 
the  knight. 

Had  not  ambition  blinded  him,  he  would 
have  remained  in  his  castle  and  enjoyed  the 
happiness,  the  companionship  of  such  a  wife 
afforded;  but  after  a  long  leave-taking  from 
her,  he  departed  with  full  speed  for  an  unknown 
country,  where  his  fancy  showed  him  brilliant 
sections  of  glory,  splendour  and  battle. 

Before  him  he  saw  the  future;  if  he  looked 
back  from  his  steed,  he  perceived  his  wife  wav- 
ing him  a  farewell,  thereby  driving  from  his 
mind  all  thoughts  of  the  dangers  of  war. 

At  last  the  forest  hid  the  castle  from  his 
view.  He  then  put  spurs  to  his  steed,  crying 
"Onward,  soldiers;  before  us  lies  glory,  behind 
us,  love;  the  sooner  we  gain  the  first,  the 
sooner  shall  we  enjoy  the  latter." 

And  "Onward!"  echoed  from  his  bearded 
followers,  who  spurred  their  horses  as  they 
galloped  madly  forward. 

After  his  arrival  in  France,  the  Staufenberg 
knight  placed  himself  and  his  troop  at  the 
disposal  of  a  duke  of  that  country,  and  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  his  valor  and  prudence 
to  such  an  extent  that  the  duke  was  desirous 


69 

of  attaching  this  valiant  and  honest  warrior 
permanently  to  his  cause. 

But  what  to  offer  him  as  an  inducement 
to  exchange  his  freedom  for  a  vassalage,  had 
puzzled  the  duke  for  some  time;  when  one 
day  he  perceived  his  youngest  daughter  look- 
ing at  the  handsome  young  knight  with  glances 
more  tender  and  affectionate  than  she  was 
wont  to  cast  upon  the  other  knights.  The  duke 
saw  that  a  union  between  his  daughter  and  the 
Knight  of  Staufenberg  would  be  the  easiest  way 
of  realizing  his  wish,  and  therefore  offered, 
as  a  reward  for  his  services,  the  hand  of  the 
maid,  whose  youth,  beauty,  and  noble  rank 
rendered  her  worthy  of  the  highest  in  the  land. 

The  knight,  whose  simple  mind  was  already 
dazzled  by  the  splendour  of  the  Franconian 
court,  accepted  the  offer  with  a  feeling  of  satis- 
fied vanity.  It  flattered  him  to  be  chosen  as 
the  husband  of  a  young  and  beautiful  princess ; 
he  was  dazzled  by  the  glitter  of  the  crown  she 
wore,  as  well  as  by  the  splendour  of  the  court, 
and  he  entirely  forgot  the  promise  to  his  lovely 
wife.  He  surrendered  himself  to  the  intoxi- 
cating round  of  pleasures  which  the  duke  pre- 
pared for  him,  and  did  not  resist  or  reflect 
upon  the  changes  which  his  heart  had  under- 


70 

gone.  It  -v^as  only  at  night  when  his  eye  was 
not  dazzled  by  the  view  of  the  brilliant  festivi- 
ties, that  a  pale  figure  arose  in  his  mind  and 
looked  at  him  with  sorrowing  eyes.  Although 
he  so  often  tried  to  banish  this  vision  and  avoid 
the  expressive  looks  of  his  injured  wife,  he 
failed.  Her  eyes  followed  him  with  looks 
more  of  reproach  than  anger.  He  became 
tmsettled  and  discontented.  He  remembered 
his  beautiful  wife,  and  the  happy  days  which 
he  had  passed  in  the  old  Staufenberg  castle; 
and  comparing  all  this  with  the  restless  life 
of  the  court,  and  his  insatiable  desire  for  its 
gaiety,  he  began  to  realize  that  his  castle  con- 
tained a  higher  treasure  than  a  crown,  even 
if  it  were  on  the  head  of  the  most  beautiful 
maiden.  He  formed  the  best  resolutions,  vow- 
ing to  return  home,  and  to  fly  from  the  seduc- 
tions of  the  court;  but  at  daybreak,  the  images 
of  the  night  vanished  before  the  brightness  of 
the  sun;  shame  prevented  him  from  taking  his 
leave,  and  he  felt  himself  attracted  anew  by 
the  charms  of  his  promised  bride. 

Weeks  thus  passed  in  painful  struggles  with 
his  conscience;  he  became  melancholy  and 
dejected,  and  was  unable,  even  when  at  the 
side  of  the  princess,  to  banish  his  grief. 


71 

He  at  last  resolved  to  ask  the  advice  of  a 
priest,  and  communicate  his  sorrows  to  him. 

The  priest  listened  with  astonishment  to  the 
knight's  tale,  at  the  conclusion  of  which  his 
cheeks  grew  paler  and  paler,  and  he  exclaimed 
with  holy  fear,  at  the  same  time  crossing  him- 
self thrice: 

"You  have  made  an  alliance  with  the  evil 
one.  Angels  and  heavenly  spirits  have  for- 
saken you.  Your  soul  is  forfeited  to  the  devil, 
and  I  consider  it  my  duty,  if  you  do  not  abjure 
the  union  with  your  wife,  and  do  penance, 
to  withhold  the  benefits  of  the  church  from 
you." 

Half  persuaded,  half  infatuated  with  the 
idea,  he  consented  to  abjure  his  wife,  and  the 
duke,  in  agreement  with  the  priest,  arranged 
the  day  on  which  the  knight  should  be  entirely 
freed  from  the  bonds  of  Satan,  by  marrying 
the  princess. 

As  the  marriage  day  approached,  the 
embarrassment  of  the  knight  grew  more  pain- 
ful. His  mind  worked  like  a  nightmare, 
and  the  looks  of  his  abjured  wife  appeared 
to  him  in  his  dreams  more  and  more  sorrow- 
ful. As  the  wedding  day  approached,  and  the 
bride,  attired  in  silk  and  adorned  with  costly 


72 

jewels,  received  him,  she  felt  that  her  smile 
had  no  charms  for  him;  and  when  he  bent 
to  kiss  her  hand,  it  seemed  to  him  like  a  hand 
of  marble,  and  with  a  ghastly  look,  he  stag- 
gered back. 

The  marriage  procession  was  obliged  to  pass 
over  a  bridge  on  the  way  to  the  church,  and  as 
the  bridegroom  stepped  onto  the  bridge,  a  flash 
of  lightning  glanced  before  him.  The  storm 
raged  wildly,  and  the  torrent  rose  to  his  horse's 
hoofs.  The  animal  plunged  and  reared 
through  fear,  and  sprang  into  the  foaming 
waters.  The  storm  abated,  the  sun  shone 
forth,  and  the  stream  rolled  under  the  bridge 
whereon  the  trembling  bride  and  her  attendants 
stood. 

It  was  at  the  same  hour  that  a  fierce  storm, 
accompanied  by  thunder  and  lightning,  raged 
over  Staufenberg,  and  when  it  had  ceased,  the 
lady  of  the  castle  could  not  be  found. 

Nobody  knew  whither  she  had  gone;  but  at 
midnight  loud  weeping  was  heard  in  the  castle, 
and  from  a  lonely  tower  came  a  voice  which 
seemed  to  whisper,  "Woe  to  faithless  lovers." 


Zhc  Scboolboi?  Iking 

A  Legend  of  Napoleon. 

(A  Scene  at  Brienne.) 

I. 

Le  Pere  Petrault  shut  Virgil  up 
Just  as  the  clock  struck  ten: 
"This  little  Bonaparte,"  he  said, 
"Is  one  of  Plutarch's  men. 
To  see  him  with  his  massive  head. 
Gripped  mouth,  and  swelling  brow, 
Wrestle  with  Euclid — there  he  sat 
Not  half  an  hour  from  now." 


II. 

The  good  old  pedagogue  his  book 
Put  slowly  in  its  place: 
"That  Corsican,"  he  said,  "has  eyes 
Like  burning  glasses;    race 
Italian,  as  his  mother  said; 
Barred  up  from  friend  and  foe. 
He  toils  all  night,  inflexible 
Forging  it  blow  by  blow. 


74 


m. 


I  know  his  trick  of  thought,  the  way- 
He  covers  up  his  mouth : 
One  hand  Hke  this,  the  other  clenched — 
Those  eyes  of  the  hot  South. 
The  Httle  Caesar,  how  he  strides, 
Sleep — walking  in  the  sun, 
Only  awaking  at  the  roar 
Of  the  meridian  gun. 

IV. 

I  watched  him  underneath  my  book 

That  day  he  sprung  the  mine, 

For  when  the  earth-wall  rocked  and  reeled 

His  eyes  were  all  a-shine; 

And  when  it  slowly  toppled  down. 

He  leaped  upon  the  heap 

With  fiery  haste — just  as  a  wolf 

Would  spring  upon  a  sheep. 

V. 

Pichegru,  Napoleon's  monitor, 
Tells  me  he's  dull  and  calm. 
Tenacious,  firm,  submissive — ^yes, 
Our  chain  is  on  his  arm. 


75 

Volcanic  natures  such  as  his 
I  dread; — may  God  direct 
This  boy  to  good — the  evil  quell- 
His  better  will  direct. 


VI. 

Here  is  his  Euclid  book — the  ink 

Still  wet  upon  the  rings; 

These  are  the  talismans  some  day 

He'll  use  to  fetter  kings. 

To  train  a  genius  like  this  lad 

I've  prayed  for  years — for  years ; 

But  now  I  know  not  whether  hopes 

Are  not  half  choked  by  fears. 

VII, 

Last  Monday,  when  they  built  that  fort 

With  bastions  of  snow, 

The  ditch,  and  spur,  and  ravelin 

And  terraced  row  on  row, 

'Twas  Bonaparte  who  cut  the  trench, 

Who  shaped  the  line  of  sap — 

A  year  or  two,  and  he  will  be 

First  in  war's  bloody  gap. 


76 


VIII. 


I  see  him  now  upon  the  hill, 

His  hands  behind  his  back, 

Waving  the  tricolor  that  led 

The  vanguard  of  attack; 

And  there,  upon  the  trampled  earth, 

The  ruins  of  the  fort. 

This  Bonaparte,  the  schoolboy  king. 

Held  his  victorious  court. 


IX. 

To  see  him  give  the  shouting  crowd 

His  little  hand  to  kiss, 

You'd  think  him  never  meant  by  Grod 

For  any  lot  but  this. 

And  then  with  loud  exulting  cheers 

Upon  their  shoulders  borne. 

He  rode  with  buried  Caesar's  pride 

And  Alexander's  scorn. 


X. 

Ah !  I  remember,  too,  the  day 
The  fire  balloon  went  up; 
It  burned  away  into  a  star 
Ere  I  went  off  to  sup; 


77 

But  he  stood  weeping  there  alone 
Until  the  dark  night  came, 
To  think  he  had  not  wings  to  fly 
And  catch  the  passing  flame. 

XI. 

Oh!  he  is  meant  for  mighty  things 

This  leader  of  my  class; — 

But  there's  the  bell  that  rings  for  me, 

So  let  the  matter  pass. 

You  see  that  third-floor  window  lit, 

The  blind  drawn  half-way  down; 

That's  Bonaparte's — he's  at  it  now — 

It  makes  the  dunces  frown." 


— EPICTETUS 


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